Competition.
C O M P E T I T I O N . luster The walls simmer with the dry heat, the ornate carvings in the sandstone slithering with life. The sunlight pierced the halls with slivers and shards of golden rays, and everything was crisp. There was a sharp focus on everything, and it all seemed too real. Too sharp, too distinct. It was like a dream; except it definitely wasn't a figment of imagination. Today was real. Today was now. Today was my hatchingday. It is a strange concept; to celebrate the day in which you were welcomed to the world. The day you witnessed Pyrrhia with your own eyes. To anyone else, it was just any day. But to you, it was your first. I was welcomed with open wings, and a cheer from crowds. The heir was born, they announced, they cheered, they screamed. They had all loved me, and I cherished the glow of the welcome to this very day. It would be a long time until I would be hearing my name cheered with such vigor, such joy and relief. Now, my name means fear and death. They call me a monster and a brute. Do I argue? No. I am aware of what I have done, I am aware of the image I have created, I am aware of me. I do not blame them for fearing me, for crying my name, for hating me. I would never bother the populous with a useless excuse for my behavior – that is unright – but I will not have them think of me as weak. As deceptive. As evil. I am not a perfect dragon, I will acknowledge that. I will get angry when my plans go awry, I will get angry when my rights are stolen from me, and I will get angry when I am disrespected. I am not perfect, and I have to accept that I will be compared to an ideal. I will be compared to a creature with perfect morals, perfect mindset, perfect understanding, and perfect communication. I am not that. But I am not Evil. The courtyard is wide open, and dragons bend their necks to the sand when I come into view. It fills me with pride, but also rage. They view me as a leader. But they bow out of fear, not admiration. I pass by them, unable to make eye contact. My bones ache. My body aches. My heart aches. Ahead of me is the tower of my collection. I collect the odd so they are not forgotten. So they are not mocked or tortured for being unlike the rest. I had accepted at an early age that I was a freak – a heartless, brainless beast of a dragon who could do nothing but kill – but I refused to allow these dragons to face these fates. Some call it immoral to kill dragons to keep them in a cage for my own amusement. I wish to ask them: in what way would I enjoy this? I do not consider my tower a museum; it is a cemetery. I keep the unfortunate safe. But I do not explain, because I am not a believer of excuses. The outside has an expensive, well crafted pot hanging from a chain beside the entrance. In it are wilted flowers. They were given to me by a rather apathetic acquaintance of mine – Miss Scarlet. She had sent them to me via dragonet messenger, with a card saying “Sorry for your loss” in her gold, slanted script. These flowers are almost twenty years old. I had Smolder care for them excessively. He was assured that if the flowers died, he would go with them. They aren't dead, I pray they won't. I believe that they have some of Mother's fighting spirit in them; they've come so close to dying, but always manage to come back. Or maybe Smolder is just desperate. Inside the tower is dark, and I find myself immobile. I have no fears. But the dark is a scary place. The dark is where you become Not You, and you see everything in nothing. There is nothing wrong with being wrong if you know how to fix it. Hindsight is the worst sight; the view of regret. Of what could, would, should. I know I could have done better, and I know what I did wrong, but the past is stone. Everything happened, and it cannot change. Dragons died. Dragons died because of me. Dragons died beneath, between, my claws. Their lives, potential, voices, are lost. My claws bear the blood, and do feel the guilt. I am aware of my strength, my name, my reputation. I should have been better. I could not be perfect, but I could be a better me. But the past is stone. All is dead and lost. Now seems so unreal. I am a year older. I am a year more experienced. A year more alive. In this year, I have learned to be right, but in being wrong, I cannot change. I can only hope for a new opportunity to prove I am right. To show that I am not bad. To have the world know I am not evil, bad, or a monster. I am alive, and I can see, feel, and think. No one can take away my being. I cannot be stripped of my qualities I received only thirty odd years ago. I do not expect to be my mother or my sisters. I do not expect to be my ancestors, because I was not born them. I was born by the name Burn. I will be me. I will make mistakes, but I will learn. I cannot lose to myself. Category:Fanfictions Category:Fanfictions (Completed) Category:Fanfictions (Canon) Category:Content (Luster the rainwing)